


bad timing

by tobeconvincedoflove



Series: adam with cf [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Chronic Illness, Gen, Hospitals, Major Illness, Sickfic, adam has cf, adam lives with the witches au, but like for now, idk if i missed tagging things it really be like that im sorry, not an explicit no magic au but like that's not the focus here, oh boy is this an au, one with like ronan and the raven boys in it, this is like one slice of a huge ass au im goign to write at least one more piece of it i promise, this is such a fucking au, this is what ya get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: Adam just coughs—hard and hollow. His whole chest is moving and yetnothingis coming up. Oh, RT is going to be an absolute shitshow. He can feel it.“I don’t like the sound of that,” Claire says.“Does anyone?” Adam gets out, kicks the blankets off because he’s somehow cold but also too warm and doesn’t know what to do about it. Claire just slides the mask back on him. Adam takes it back off. Calla’s on the couch, her eyes glued to the phone. “Where’s Maura? Or was I super fucking out of it?”“Language,” Calla says. “Maura was here, but Blue got sick at school so she’s going to get her.”“Blue’s sick? With what?” Adam asks. “Did she get me sick? ‘M gonna kill her.”
Relationships: Adam Parrish & Blue Sargent, Adam Parrish & Maura Sargent, Calla Lily Johnson & Adam Parrish
Series: adam with cf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552099
Comments: 12
Kudos: 102





	bad timing

**Author's Note:**

> alright random medical jargon is used i probably won't list it all but the basis is adam has cystic fibrosis which is a shitty mucus disease that can affect like your whole ass body but main focus is lungs here with the fun side effect of mentioned you can't really digest anything without help of huge enzyme pills but main issue for adam here is the constant generation of mucus in the lungs 
> 
> but lots of Family Feels and some Sibling Stuff eyoooo im sorry im trash and haven't posted in forever
> 
> also massive thank you to maddie for like fleshing out this whole au with me for like ........ months. there is so much more than this like one snippet. and for being the source of all of the medical knowledge.

“I’m not going,” Adam says, is clinging to the door frame to remain upright but trying to make it look casual. It does not look casual. “S’just a cold.” 

Blue snorts at that. “Yeah, no. You look awful.” 

“You don’t look cute, either,” Adam snaps back, but then he’s swaying in the doorframe and Calla’s hand is on his elbow and he’s being guided to the couch. “Mom, ‘m _fine_.” 

“Let’s sit down and get your oxygen back on,” she says in that gentle but firm voice that leaves absolutely no room for argument. 

“M’ not going, s’ dumb,” Adam gets out. “N’ I don’t need th’oxygen.” But he’s panting, and sweating, and then coughs and it’s the kind that sounds so deep and wet and painful that it can only be a Lung Thing. 

Calla just clips the pulse-ox on his finger without comment. She knows that this is frustrating, because the oxygen is so new on top of the newness of freshman year of high school, and now he’s sick again. Not normal sick. They’re all pretty sure this is a CF exacerbation or some kind of lung infection. They just need the cultures to prove it. But it doesn’t matter. His fever is high and he’s dizzy and so this is go straight to the ER do not pass clinic kind of day. 

“Blue, you should be leaving for school,” Calla says, because she knows some of this bravado Adam’s putting on will deflate the second the sibling rivalry is gone. 

“Mom said we were leaving in five minutes,” Blue said. “I’m eating breakfast.” There’s a pause, and then she looks positively gleeful, which only means— “Hey, Adam, did you eat yet?”

“Literally fuck off,” Adam shoots back. 

“Language,” Calla says, automatically. “Blue, take the keys and warm up the car then please.” 

“I’m not hungry,” Adam says. “And I’m nauseous.” He looks at Calla, too, in case she was getting any ideas. 

“Adam, we need to leave as soon as Maura gets back,” Calla says. “Let’s put some shoes on.” 

“I’m not going,” Adam says, has somehow pulled the couch’s knitted blanket over his whole body. “I’m going to school.” 

“I know you don’t want to, but we don’t have a choice, kiddo,” Calla says. It’s at that moment Adam coughs again, hard enough that his eyes go glassy. 

“Ouch,” he gets out. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?” Maura says, pausing to smooth Adam’s hair back on her way out the door. 

“I’m not sick,” Adam says, but it doesn’t make a difference. He’s bundled into the car as soon as Maura’s back, and he’s so dizzy that he is in and out of sleep the whole forty minute drive to Children’s. 

“What’s gotten into him?” Calla asks Maura as she checks back on the pulse ox still resting on Adam’s finger. “I thought we were over the rebellion.” 

“He’s sick. Logic has flown out the window,” Maura says. “He’s sick and he knows they’re going to admit him and he doesn’t want that.” 

“They might not admit him, or it might just be for a few days,” Calla says. “We don’t know what it is yet. And he does have the port.” 

“You know this feels different,” Maura says. “He’s been coughing up a lung, but he hasn’t really brought anything up during respiratory therapy. And he’s not satting super well.“ 

“I know, I know,” Calla says. “It might just be pneumonia. And he has the port, so it might just be a longer course of antibiotics at home. We just don’t know yet.” 

“He’s not feeling well at all,” Maura says, looking at Adam curled up in the backseat. “He hasn’t been having a good school year. The attendance lady was giving me shit.” 

“He has an IEP. She can shove it up her ass,” Calla responds. “He doesn’t need the district deciding to reevaluate the IEP on top of all of this.” 

“They might want to, if his absences keep up at the rate. They’re throwing around the term homebound schooling,” Maura says. “Which is bullshit at this point. We haven’t even talked to a transplant team.” 

Calla just sighs. “Let’s get through today. We can let the doctors and the district fight each other later.” 

They drive in silence, Calla periodically looking back in the mirror at the fourteen-year-old with a pale, sweaty face and bright fever spots. Until Adam wakes himself up coughing right as they’re pulling into the Children’s ER lot. 

“Ow,” Adam says, one hand coming up to his ribcage. “Shit.” 

“How are you doing, bud?” Maura asks. “We just got here.” 

“I don’t feel good,” Adam says. “Chest hurts and I’m dizzy.”

“Let’s go get you checked in,” Calla says. “Can you walk?”

“Of course,” Adam says, and immediately stumbles out of the car. Up and down is an abstract concept; he can’t feel beyond the tightness in his chest, the consuming feeling of just being unable to breathe properly through the gunk in his chest. But he doesn’t want to do this. It isn’t worth it, not when ER won’t access a port and pulmonology is going to flip their shit and he’s going to be trapped here. 

Adam really fucking hates Children’s. He knows that’s a shitty thing to say, but like it’s legit. They kidnap him and trap him in a room with a shitton of people poking him and then they make him cough up all the shit in his lungs. And everyone has to wear gowns and masks and it’s trippy as shit and no one lets him sleep even though they all just want him to rest. 

“Steady, Adam,” Calla says, as she catches him before he can faceplant. She secures Adam’s mask, puts nitrile gloves on his hands like she had to when he was five. 

They don’t want him catching anyone else’s bacteria. Especially not another CF’ers. One of the many downsides to the shitty mucus disease is bacteria love living encased in the mucus he can’t get the fuck out of his lungs. So, he’s got a shitload of chronic infections on top of it all. And whenever he’s somewhere where there might be someone else with the shitty mucus disease, they have to be extra careful because no one wants anyone else’s bacteria or fungus. 

“I’m good,” Adam says, but it’s muffled. Blue pitched a fit last year about the amount of paper or something that he’s used on sanitary masks, so now he’s got a fancy cloth one that Blue picked out on the internet, and he admits it’s easier to breathe out of it but it’s so much fucking hotter. 

Calla’s grip is firm around his upper arm, and they don’t have to wait at all in the ER. Their team knows that they’re coming, and no one wants him waiting around in the ER, catching and leaving germs. 

Adam feels his knees buckle and his vision go grey, and suddenly there are a lot more hands. He feels like he’s stood somewhere, hands wrapped around something briefly, but the next thing he’s aware of he’s laying down, the feeling of starched sheets too familiar. Someone has swapped his oxygen cannula for a mask, his sanitary mask un-velcroed and in Calla’s hand.

Adam, naturally, pulls the oxygen mask off. 

“‘M fine,” he gets out, rolling onto his side to cough. “Don’t need a mask.” 

“Leave it be, kiddo,” Maura says. “It’s humidified, it might help get them a mucus sample.” 

“N’thanks,” Adam pants, but a nurse just pushes it back up and continues whatever she was doing. 

“So we’re definitely keeping him. His weight’s down, he’s got a high fever, he’s not satting great, and I don’t like the sound of the cough. Let’s get some chest x-rays and call up to the pulmonology unit,” the doctor says. “At least until we know what we’re dealing with and we can get things a little more under control.” 

“I’m good thanks.” The mask is off again. Someone has inserted an IV, even though Adam has a whole ass port. “Why the fuck?” 

“You know they can’t access ports in the ER, bud,” Calla says. She puts the mask back on him. “Relax, and let them do what they need to do.” 

“We’ll bring an x-ray here. It’s easier than making him move,” a nurse says. “Is he taking the bed with him?”

Adam just gives up listening. He thinks he’s asleep before he realizes he was even falling asleep.

:: ::

Adam wakes up coughing. This is normal. What’s not normal is for it to hurt so fucking much.

“What room am I in?” Adam asks, pulling the mask down. “Why the mask?”

“Normal floor, room 623,” Calla says. “You’re satting better with the mask, and they don’t want you on CPAP if they can help it.” 

“How are you feeling, kid?” It’s Claire, so at least the universe threw him some kind of a boon. Having Claire as a nurse has been a gift horse since the first time: she was there when he threw up during his first RT and is somehow still on the same unit. She knows him, and she knows what works and what the doctors shouldn’t bother trying. 

“Uh, not great,” Adam says, coughs some more. “You take the IV out?”

“Yup, your port is accessed,” she says. “We started some general antibiotics while you were asleep, to cover the bases until we get the cultures back.” 

Adam just coughs—hard and hollow. His whole chest is moving and yet _nothing_ is coming up. Oh, RT is going to be an absolute shitshow. He can feel it. 

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Claire says. 

“Does anyone?” Adam gets out, kicks the blankets off because he’s somehow cold but also too warm and doesn’t know what to do about it. Claire just slides the mask back on him. Adam takes it back off. Calla’s on the couch, her eyes glued to the phone. “Where’s Maura? Or was I super fucking out of it?”

“Language,” Calla says. “Maura was here, but Blue got sick at school so she’s going to get her.” 

“Blue’s sick? With what?” Adam asks. “Did she get me sick? ‘M gonna kill her.” 

“Her stomach is upset. Hopefully she didn’t get you sick, but if your stomach starts hurting tell me immediately,” Calla says. She doesn’t say what he knows she means, that he doesn’t need a stomach bug or whatever she has on top of whatever is happening in his lungs right now. 

“Oh,” Adam says. “She puke?” 

“Yes,” Calla says, was trying to avoid saying it because he’s a susceptible puker, but he said it first, so there’s no point denying it. “Chelsea is on RT today, so play nice.” 

“Ew, no. I can’t promise that if it’s Chelsea.” And then Adam’s coughing again, and Claire has pulled the mask back up. He flips her off. 

“You slept through lunch, but your tube’s been on,” Claire says. “But you should have a snack after RT. Start thinking about what you want.” 

Adam holds up a firm zero. 

“If you don’t pick, it’s my choice. You know this,” Claire says. “And I can only promise that I don’t pick off your allergy list.” 

But Adam’s already asleep again. 

“He’s not doing hot,” Calla says, pulls his blankets back up and smooths his sweaty hair out of his face. 

“We’ll know more when the cultures come back,” Claire says. “He’s definitely sick, though. And he’s not really coughing anything up.” 

“That’s what’s worrying me. Maybe RT will help let some stuff loose,” Calla says. 

“We’ll see.” Claire’s voice is even. “How’s Blue doing?” 

“She’s vomiting a lot,” Calla responds. “Maura’s pretty worried. She might bring her this evening or tomorrow morning if she doesn’t start feeling better.” 

“And I’m guessing we don’t want Adam aware of this? I’m shocked he hasn’t puked while coughing yet,” Claire says. 

“That would be great if he wasn’t,” Calla says. “It might just be a bug. She could sleep it off.’

:: ::

“No offense, but if you leave me alone with Chelsea I’ll kill you,” Adam says, as he pushes himself upright. “And ‘m getting out of th’ bed.”

“Let me help,” Claire says. “You might still be a little dizzy.” 

“M’ good, Claire,” Adam says. He has pulled himself up to sitting and is ready to Yeet himself the three steps required into the recliner. He absolutely fucking hates being tethered to the wall by the oxygen, but he can’t really fuck with it right now. Maybe later. 

Claire’s grip on his forearm is tight, but it stops him from braining himself on the wall so he can’t be really mad about it. 

And then she starts putting pillows all over the goddamn place. 

“It’ll be easier getting you out of the chair this way, trust me,” Claire says. “And RT thinks having a pillow to hold while coughing might help out today. Chelsea is on her way down.”

“Play nice with her,” Calla says. “Ask her about the Bachelor. She loves that.” 

“Do _not_ leave me alone with her,” Adam says. “If I puke, I puke. I’d rather have you watch than have forty minutes of her holding me captive.” 

“Glad to see your priorities are in line, as always,” Calla says. “Are you warm enough?”

“No,” Adam says on reflex, despite the fact that multiple blankets from the bed have migrated to the chair with him. 

“No weighted blankets,” Claire reminds him. “Not until you’re satting closer to normal on the normal oxygen assistance.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Adam says, but then he’s coughing and Chelsea is entering the room with her cart, all chipper and shit. 

“Hi Adam, how are you doing today?” she says. Look, it’s not her fault her voice is grating as fuck. It is her fault her voice is chipper as fuck. 

“How the fuck do you think?” Adam asks, still kind of coughing. It doesn’t phase her, because absolutely nothing can phase Chelsea. It’s part of what makes her so fucking annoying. And Calla won’t let him make her into a tiktok. 

Blue says he’s got too many followers for making dumb hospital tiktoks as it is. Kind of fair, but also no one likes when he points out he would rather not be in the hospital to make tiktoks. It makes the moms sad. 

“Hopefully we can start clearing out all that nasty junk now,” Chelsea says. “Your chest x-ray from the ER showed that your airways are inflamed, so your pulmonologist wants to add albuterol into your normal salt water and medicine nebulizer, okay? It might make you a little shaky at first.” 

“Not my first rodeo, Chelsea,” Adam reminds her. He knows, okay, he knows she does really well with the little kids and they fucking love her but right now he just wants to quietly suffer and just get it over with and he can tell she’s going to fucking chatter the whole goddamn time. 

“Ready to get started?” she asks, as she sets up the nebulizer. 

“Sure,” Adam says, even though he’s positive that he’s not. 

“How’s the latest season of The Bachelorette?” Calla asks, right as Adam puts the nebulizer mask up to his face. He glares, because then Chelsea is off on a rant about whatever the fuck happened this week on the show. 

Adam, for his part, is doing his best to breathe in the meds. And then he starts coughing. 

That’s what sucks about it. This treatment is specifically designed to make him cough, to loosen up all of the mucus that just grows and grows and grows in his lungs so he can keep coughing and coughing and coughing just so he doesn’t drown himself. And when he’s sick, he only has to do it more often, even though it hurts more. Because, you know, infection mucus on top of shitty mucus disease mucus. It’s really fucking gross. 

He literally coughs up so much shit that they have to give him the same basin they give him when he’s about to puke. It’s insane. 

Except this time. So little is coming up, and it’s in such huge chunks that it hurts his throat, hurts his chest, hurts everything that it passes along the way up. 

Adam pulls the mask off, and then he coughs so hard that he pukes. He hasn’t eaten by mouth today, so it’s just formula and bile and maybe pedialyte if they were mixing that in with the normal formula. He’s had a hole in his stomach since he was six, since they figured out what the fuck was going on with him and his bio parents bailed (not in that order). Another part of the shitty mucus disease is that it takes so much fucking energy that he needs like … double the normal amount of calories. Anything about 2500 calories a chore, and so they drilled a hole in his stomach and they can pump high nutrient shit in there directly so less of the burden falls on him. 

It works. Except when he pukes it up. 

“Sorry,” Adam rasps out. “I don’t think I can do the vest. Coughing hurts too much,” Adam says. 

“You’re doing great, sweetie. Let’s finish the nebulizer first and then we can figure out percussion,” Chelsea says. “You can hold the pillow and cough. It might help.” 

“I can’t hold the nebulizer. My hands are shaking,” Adam points out, holds out his trembling hands. “S’ the albuterol.” 

“I can hold it, bud,” Calla says. “You’re almost done with it.” She just holds the mask up to Adam’s mouth, tries to ignore the mix between dead-eyed stare and glare he’s perfected. She rubs his back when he coughs, holds the basin so he can spit up what he manages to get out. 

Adam looks like he is not going to let Chelsea put the vest on him. After the nebulizer loosens all the shit in his lungs, the vest shakes it all up so it’s even easier for it to come up. 

But he does. He clutches the pillow and coughs and then he crawls back into bed as soon as it’s over. Claire comes in to check on his vitals and push some more medicine. That’s when Calla’s phone rings. 

“Hey,” Maura says, and she sounds stressed. “I think I need to bring Blue to urgent care. She won’t stop vomiting, can’t keep even water down. She says there’s a sharp pain in her abdomen.” 

“Better do it now and have it be non-serious than wait and have it be something,” Calla says, but she pinches the bridge of her nose. Claire is switching out the nasal cannula for oxygen for the humidified oxygen mask, and Adam is fast asleep. There goes the chance of him eating a snack. He looks _sick_ ; he’s pale and even though he’s had a growth spurt that puts him far above Calla and Maura, he still looks small in the hospital bed, cocooned in as many blankets as they’ll let him have. 

“How’s he doing?” Maura asked. “He finish RT?” 

“It was rough. He was trying not to cry during the vest, and he threw up twice. He didn’t bring up a lot of mucus, either, and what he did was a weird color,” Calla says. 

“Cultures don’t come back until late this evening or tomorrow, right?” Maura asks. “I’m going to bring Blue now.” 

“Correct. Let me know when you get here. If he’s still sleeping, I’ll come down.”

:: ::

Adam is not, in fact, sleeping. He’s trying to debate with the night nurse why he shouldn’t be put in timeout despite not eating his dinner.

“You know that rule isn’t for these circumstances,” he says. “And, like, I’m sick. It’s extenuating circumstances anyway. I’ve already puked like twice today.” 

“Rules are rules,” Jessica says. “You haven’t eaten all day today. And you refused to even try.” 

“I didn’t. I’m just nauseous,” Adam says. “Mom One’s about to go downstairs because my sister is in the ER. I should be allowed to keep my phone at least. For updates.” 

“Oh, am I?” Calla asks, quirks an eyebrow. She was planning on it, but then Adam had decided to veto food. She’s not sure she should leave him unsupervised. 

“I don’t need to be baby sat,” Adam says. “I’ll be fine. I’m just gonna check tiktok and google classroom.” 

“You’re excused from classwork. Do I need to log you out of your google accounts?” Calla’s using her Mom voice. 

“No,” Adam says quickly. But Calla has his phone at the moment, because he had tried checking snapchat and tiktok instead of focusing on his dinner, so she changes his passwords and logs him out. She holds onto the device, though, despite the arm removing itself from the blanket next so he can hold his hand out for it.

“I’m leaving the phone decision up to you, Mom,” Jessica says. “I understand there’s a lot happening.” 

“He can have it on the table instead of in the drawer, but he shouldn’t be using it unless I or his other mom text or call,” Calla decides. “Rules are rules, kiddo.” 

“What if Blue texts?” Adam asks. “Or snaps, or messages, or something.” 

“I don’t know if she will. She’s feeling pretty bad,” Calla says. “We’ll tell her you’re not allowed to be on your phone.” 

Adam groans, which leads to him coughing. Jessica pulls the mask back down over his mouth and nose, puts his phone on the table next to the bed. He pulls it back off. 

“Leave it on,” Calla says. “ _Behave_. I’ll be back after I see how Blue is doing, okay?” 

“Don’t worry. You can stay. She’s not used to this shit, and I am,” Adam says. “I’m just going to rest, Calla.” 

Calla smooths his hair back, and he grimaces only a little bit. He must really be feeling bad. “Behave, okay?”

“When don’t I?” Adam’s tone sounds too innocent. She can’t see anything in particular in the future, other than that neither Adam nor Blue will be feeling well. She just has a general bad feeling.

:: ::

“What’s wrong, Blue?” Maura and Blue are sitting with Blue in the ER. They’re now confident that she has appendicitis; they’re waiting for a med surg floor to respond that they have space, because she’s going to have surgery in the morning. This is not a good day in the Sargent-Johnson household. “Are you in pain?”

“No, they gave me good shit,” Blue says. “Haven’t even puked in a while.” 

“Then why the face?” Maura asks. Blue was on her phone, was watching tiktoks or whatever it is she does these days, and then suddenly her face creased.

“Oh. Adam posted somethin’ weird,” she says, doesn’t elaborate. “From his stupid famous tiktok. That y’all can’t know how famous it is. ‘Cuz you’ll flip your shit.” 

Okay. There’s a lot to unpack there. 

“Uh, what did he post?” As much as Calla wants to know the answer to how many followers her child has on his chronic illness shitposting account, this seems more pressing. Also, not fair because the kid she’s interrogating is as high as a kite. 

“It’s the ‘I just did a bad thing’ music from the dude who made the history of Japan video,” Blue says. “And it was like pumps and shit being turned off and like plastic wrap? And him putting on a sanitary mask? Dunno.” 

Calla just sighs. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, honey,” she says. 

“Oh shit. He’s in trouble,” Blue says, doesn’t sound bothered at all. “Can I watch?” 

“No,” Maura says. “You need to stay here until we know where you’re going.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

:: ::

Adam wagers the odds of Blue being on tiktok at this very moment are slim to none. She’s got appendicitis; sure, she’s got a baby surgery coming, but she’s either high as a kite or puking her guts out. He wants to see it in real time. And he hasn’t made a tiktok this week, because he’s been sick, and his best content is hospital bullshit anyway. So why not kill two birds with one stone?

Jessica is a fresh graduate. She is overwhelmed, probably. Sneaking out should be easy. 

He’s a master of turning off machines without alerting the nurse’s station monitors, of muting alarms and pulling lines. He knows he’ll be caught if he takes the elevator or goes past the nurse’s station but there’s a stairwell right by his room, and so taking the pole with him is out. That’s fine. He can disconnect the port, plastic wrap it to be safe because he’s not stupid… no one wants a port infection. The rest of it is newbie shit. 

Adam does not account for being dizzy as shit just getting out of bed. But whatever. The end goal is worth it. He records his tiktok, puts on his mask and gloves because otherwise the moms might actually murder him for being in the ER and breathing in germs, and he starts his escape. Fuck, he’s tired. 

And dizzy. It’s fine. 

He sneaks into the stairwell successfully, and he feels his pocket buzz. If it’s Calla, oh well. He’ll see her soon. Adam’s whole brain power is going into not braining himself on the stairs. It’s the first time since he lost the fight to go without oxygen assistance that he’s been totally without it for this long. 

He’s on the sixth floor. He just needs to go one or two floors down, then he can take the elevator on a different unit down to the ER. Or, he can go the whole way down. 

Adam feels himself sweat, can feel his sense of direction go away. He takes a break, heaves some air into his lungs, because he cannot stumble on his way to the elevator or go down waiting for it or it’s going to be a mess. 

His pocket will not stop fucking buzzing. 

The nurses on this floor are giving him weird fucking looks, but he’s wearing what he thinks is Ronan’s sweatshirt so it covers his hands and no one can see the bracelets and no one says anything. No hint of the port or the g-tube because absolutely fucking nothing is connected. He hasn’t been less tethered in a long ass time. Or more dizzy. 

The elevator is straight up not a good time.

Gravity is fucking weird in elevators, you know?

But he’s on the ER floor and Calla and Maura are both there. Oh, he’s in some deep shit. 

“Hello,” Adam says, tries to make it seem like the room is totally sitting still for him right now. He’s pretty sure if it would stop fucking spinning he could tell Calla is giving him the stink eye. 

“Hello to you, too.” Yeah, that’s an icy tone. “Let’s deliver you back to Jessica before she full-on panics then we’ll talk.” 

“M’good,” he gets out. “Made it down here. Lemme see Blue.” But it sounds slurred to him, and the room is now tilting and swirling. 

Maura just is already on it. 

“Nope. There are way too many germs down here, and we don’t want either of you getting the other more sick,” Calla says, steers Adam so his butt is in the chair. “And you don’t get a reward for this.” 

“Hey. I did two whole flights of stairs without any oxygen. I don’ need it.” But there are black spots dancing in front of his vision. 

“You’re not helping your case at all here, kid,” Calla says. “They might bring the bed alarm back after this one, Adam.” 

“No way that’s still in my admission orders. I want to see Blue,” Adam says. But then they’re in the elevator again and shit gets a little too far away for him to really listen to whatever Calla is saying. 

Jessica is waiting. Because of course she is. 

Something has loosened slightly in his chest, just enough that he’s coughing hard and he can’t stop and there’s some weird gunk in his mask, down his front. 

Adam doesn’t know if he blacks out or if he just is super fucking out of it, but the next thing he can say with clarity is that he’s in bed and there’s a mask on him and Jessica is reconnecting him to all the stuff he disconnected. 

Calla does _not_ look happy. 

“They brought back the bed alarm,” she says. “In case you were wondering.” 

“I just wanted t’see Blue high as shit,” Adam argues, but he hasn’t pulled the mask down so it doesn’t sound like anything at all. He tries to fix it, but Calla’s hand is on his wrist before he can do it. 

“Just breathe for a few minutes first,” she says. “You were satting low and it’s only coming up slowly.” 

Adam shoots her a half-hearted glare. 

“Can we agree to not do that again?” Jessica asks, as she finishes hooking up his g-tube. “Though I’m impressed you plastic-wrapped your port.” 

Adam just nods. It’s not like he can try again—the second he gets up, she’s going to know and he’s going to be in deep shit. 

“For real. Let’s not do that again. I know you want to see Blue, but going to a med surg floor isn’t happening,” Calla says. “After her surgery and she rests a bit, we might be able to bring her up here for a bit. If you both behave.” 

This time, Adam gets the mask off.

“Wasn’t trying to cause trouble,” he gets out, and then he has to pause to cough. It _hurts_. “I wanted to see her. And I’m less sick.”

Calla know for a fact that isn’t true. She pushes the mask back up. She just watched him cough so much mucus everyone at the nurse’s station thought he’d vomited, and yes appendicitis is serious but it’s a minor procedure. Which no doubt Adam will point out 5000 times to Blue after the fact. The poor kid has had so many procedures and surgeries that such a small thing as an appendectomy is child’s play for him. 

“This isn’t a competition,” is what she actually says. “But one of us is going to stay with you, one of us with her tonight, okay?” 

“Don’t need to do that,” Adam says. “Not like I can go anywhere now. Don’t know how to disarm a bed alarm. Yet.” 

But then he’s asleep. 

Calla doesn’t think it’s getting through his skull just how sick he is right now. Apart from the energy that expedition has clearly taken out of him, he’s not breathing as well as he should. And he just coughed up a lot of something that is nowhere near the right color of his normal mucus. He’s really sick. And apart from that joyride, he really hasn’t left the bed. Which is _not_ normal Adam. 

She sighs. Even if he hadn’t pulled that stunt, she wouldn’t want to leave him alone. Calla can feel that something bad is coming, something soon, and he’s going to need support. Whether or not he wants it.

:: ::

“M’ sorry,” Adam says. It’s early, the bed alarm is going off because he leaned too far over to cough up shit into the bin. “I promise ‘m not gonna leave can we turn it off?”

“I’m sorry, Adam, I’ll turn it off now,” Jessica says as she comes in. “You cough again?” She doesn’t remove it, just mutes the alarm and helps Adam lay back on his side. 

Adam nods. 

“You should go be with Blue. They’re gonna get her ready soon,” Adam says, looking at Maura, who swapped for Calla sometime in the night. “I’m just gonna sleep after they do dumb morning shit.” 

“Calla and I might switch out soon so I can see her before her surgery,” Maura says. “Neither of you should be alone right now.” 

“M’fine. S’just lung sick,” Adam says. “I’ll be fine and they’ve got me alarmed and shit.” 

Maura just puts her head in her hands. Him being used to it doesn’t mean he should be alone in a hospital when he’s miserable and as sick as he’s ever been. In reality, both of their kids need both of them right now. But they can’t be in two places at once and so neither kid can get the attention or help they actually need and they’re constantly trying to convince the moms to give it to the other. It’s the opposite of how they normally roll. 

“You shouldn’t be alone, Adam,” Maura says. “Think you can rest a little bit before shift change?” 

“If he’s up I can get his morning weight and labs and stuff done now,” Jessica says. “So he can sleep for a longer bit between now and breakfast.” 

“Let’s just get it over with,” Adam says. “Can I please go back to the cannula? Like during the day?”

“That’s something to bring up during rounds,” Jessica says. “Not my decision.” 

When Adam is back in bed, he looks like he’s ready to go back to sleep. 

“I’m gonna sleep. When Claire’s on, she’ll tattle on me if me or my lungs try to pull anything. Just go downstairs.” And then he’s back asleep. 

That’s when Claire peeks her head in, arriving for her shift. “It’s true.” 

“Call down before you wake him up to eat? Or if the cultures come in?” Maura asks, and Claire nods. 

“Of course.” 

Maura heads downstairs. She had absolutely no idea that this was the mistake they had been trying to avoid.

:: ::

“Cough it out, Adam,” Claire says, rubs his back. “I know it hurts.”

She is not looking forward to the call she has to make now. He really wakes up at the worst possible time: his cultures are in, and now they know why he’s coughing his lungs out. 

It’s not good. 

Adam is just coughing hard, unable to stop. His eyes aren’t even really open. “Do I have to stay awake?” 

“You can sleep some more if you want,” Claire says, when it’s finally over. 

“You sound weird,” Adam says. “What’s goin’ on?” And then he’s coughing more. 

“Nothing,” Claire says. “Nothing that won’t be talked about during rounds.” 

“Just tell me now. ‘N don’t tell the moms until Blue’s baby surgery’s done,” Adam says. “If I fucked up the cultures, or whatever.” 

“We should really discuss your results all together,” Claire says. “And I can’t do anything except tell you what they are, anyway.” 

“They’re my bacteria. Just tell me. Or pull up MyChart,” Adam says, is sitting up fully now. 

“Okay, but after I need to call one of your moms,” Claire warns. “Most of your cultures are normal. Pseudomonas is elevated, but that’s not the main concern, as the doctors communicated it to me. You’re culturing Burkholderia cenocepacia. Your blood is clear, it’s just in your lungs. They’re going to consult with infectious disease to come up with a course of treatment.”

Adam just goes pale. Those are two words he’s known since before he could say words with that many syllables. It’s the bad bacteria. 

This set of lungs is already fucked, but it was supposed to hold on for years, probably through college if he was lucky. With this fucking bacteria, that’s antibiotic resistant and impossible to get rid of entirely, he probably won’t get out of high school without a transplant. 

Fuck. 

“Don’t tell them yet,” Adam gets out. “Not when they’re this stressed about Blue.” 

His hands are shaking. He is, suddenly, going to be off the slope of slowly dying and onto a much quicker one that he is in no way, shape, or form prepared for. He doesn’t want this. 

And then he starts coughing. And he can’t stop. 

Claire’s hand is on his back, gently rubbing circles. When the fit is over, she places the oxygen mask back over his face. “I have to call down at some time, kiddo. I won’t tell them to rush up, okay? Do you want to be alone?”

Adam just nods. He wants to be alone. 

He can’t process this. Not now. But he can’t deal with _them_ processing it. He’s been a time sink, a resource sink, since he was dumped on them all those years ago. And it’s only going to get worse from here. It’s going to get so much worse. 

His energy will go down, his baseline breathing probably won’t bounce back to where it was before he got sick, and his lung function is going to plummet instead of gently slope down. He’s going to get really sick, and it’s not going to get better. Until, if all the timing works out, he gets a new set of lungs. And there’s no telling how that will even go. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not yet. 

Adam hadn’t even realized he was crying until the third tear hits his hand.

:: ::

“Hey,” Claire says on the phone. They must have already taken Blue back for surgery, if Calla picked up so quickly. “It’s Claire, from pulmonology.”

“What’s going on?” Calla asks. “They just took Blue for surgery.” 

“When you get the chance, can one of you come up? The docs are going to be rounding soon and we have his culture results,” Claire says, is careful to keep her voice neutral. Even though when she peeked her head in to check, Adam had cried himself to sleep. 

“I didn’t see a MyChart notification,” Calla says quickly. “Is something wrong?”

“It would be better to let the doctors explain,” Claire says gently. 

“We’re on our way. It’ll be at least an hour before they’re all done and we can see her,” Calla says. Maura gives her a look. 

It’s a bad sign when they’re immediately sent to a conference room, Do Not Pass Go. Those are reserved for the serious shit. 

“What’s going on?” Calla asks, as soon as all of the doctors are all in the room. All of the doctors in one place is never good. 

“We have the culture results,” Dr. Priya Jain, Adam’s pulmonologist since the beginning, says, slides the paper across the table. 

Calla’s face goes pale.

“There’s a lot that’s good here. It’s not in his blood,” Dr. Priya says. “And we’ve already talked to infectious disease. They came up with a combination of drugs that is likely to knock back the infection, or at least slow down the colonization rate in his lungs. We’ve already started him on it.” 

“What does this mean, for his lung function?” Calla’s hands, lips, teeth, feel numb. Her arms are cold, her chest like she’s been dipped in ice water. “Does he know yet?”

“He and Claire had a conversation, briefly,” Priya says, her voice neutral. “He’s taking some time to process right now. We don’t really have a projection for his lung function yet—we won’t know until the infection itself is under control what the new timeline is. But it will be accelerated.” 

Calla swallows hard. She places her hands in her lap, so they don’t see them shaking. She should have been here when they told him—he shouldn’t have had to hear that kind of news alone. Adam should have had _someone_ there. Even if it hadn’t been this kind of news. It makes swallowing impossible, around the guilt and the knots in her throat. 

“He didn’t take it well,” she says, matter of fact. “How is he doing?”

“He’s processing,” Claire says. “He wanted to be alone, which is understandable. The medication is also pretty gnarly, and it’ll probably make his stomach upset and low on energy.” 

“I should go see him,” Calla says. “What do we most urgently need to talk about, and how quickly can we do it?”

:: ::

“S’Blue out of surgery?” Adam asks when Calla walks in the door, full gown and mask and gloves because of the time she’s spent on med surg today. Then Maura walks in. He sighs. “I’m okay. Both of y’all don’t need to be here.”

But his eyes are red and his skin is puffy and he looks like he’s one wrong move away from a breakdown. He’s on the cannula, because Claire knows he’s going to need to talk to his moms. 

Calla sits down on the bed, close to his hip. Adam’s lip starts to tremble. He bites down on it, hard. 

“You don’t have to be okay, honey,” Calla says. “It’s okay if you’re upset, or scared, or angry. I’m scared.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Adam says, bites down his lip harder. He feels awful. The drugs are tearing his stomach up, are knocking back any energy staying in bed has granted him, are making him cough so much and so hard that it’s bring tears to his eyes and ungodly amounts of gross shit up with each heave. 

When he starts coughing, he doesn’t even realize that he’s started crying. 

It hurts. He’s tired and everything is sore and his chest hurts. Coughing hurts, breathing hurts, swallowing hurts, crying hurts. He doesn’t want to deal with it. 

Adam has to deal with it. There’s no other way. 

Maura grasps one of his hands; Calla rubs soothing circles on his back. It’s like there’s something shattering, or something trying to piece itself back together inside of him, broken piece by broken piece, coming back together through the muscle and sinew, fearlessly cutting a path to reform. 

He wants his moms. 

Adam doesn’t want them to be sad, or devastated, which he knows they are. He hates when his organs make everyone around him feel shitty. But he needs them, needs the warm hand on his back and the one squeezing his own fingers to feel like he’s still alive. On his bad days, it makes him feel like a parasite, or a dementor. Leeching the happiness out of everyone and everything around him. On his worst days, he can’t think beyond how much he needs the contact to make it through the next ten minutes. 

“We’re going to get through this,” Calla says, to herself and to Adam. “It’s going to be okay.”

:: ::

“I can’t,” Adam says, halfway through the nebulizer. Calla is holding the basin, which is more full than it should really be. He coughs more, and more mucus somehow comes out. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Calla says, one hand on his back. “I know, sweetheart. You’re doing so well, though.” It’s all that she can do to get him through this. “You’re almost done.” 

Adam’s eyes are red. 

“I _can’t_ ,” Adam says. But the mask is back against his face, and he has to continue. 

“We won’t do percussion today,” Chelsea says, during his next bout of coughing. She knows he doesn’t have the energy for it. 

When it’s over, and Adam is curled up in a ball on the mattress, trembling and stomach rolling from the medicine, he just leans over the side of the bed to puke. It hurts too much, he’s too sore and too drained that he can’t do more than give a warning before it’s happening. 

“We’ll start mixing in some anti-nausea meds. We have a list of ones that won’t react with his current treatment,” Claire says. The one good news about the medicine is that because he’s clearing so much gunk he’s satting better, so he can be back on the cannula. It’s still higher flow, but it’s not a mask. 

“I have some good news,” Calla says, one hand smoothing Adam’s hair back from his forehead. “Blue’s been keeping down fluids, her fever’s down, and her pain is in pretty good control. If you’re up to it, Maura can bring her up here for a little bit.” 

“Weird flex but okay,” Adam says. Calla gives him a look. “Yeah, I wanna see her. Especially if she’s still dopey and weird.” 

“I’ll pass on the message,” Calla says. “She shouldn’t even have to bring a nurse up with her.” 

Adam just taps at his phone. It’s been plugged in, next to his face, pretty much all day. Blue’s texted him on and off as she drifts between drugged naps. She doesn’t know Adam’s fucked yet. Or at least he doesn’t think she does. 

That’s a later issue. For when she’s not high as shit. 

“How are you feeling? Do you want anything?” Calla asks. “Heating pad? Ice pack? Something to drink?” 

“I’m good, Mom. Too nauseous to drink,” Adam says. “Is Blue going home today?” 

“Tomorrow morning,” Calla says. “She’ll be out of school for the rest of the week at least, though.” 

Adam feels bad for stealing her thunder. It’s not every day you wind up in the hospital, not for normal people with functioning organs. 

“She’ll like that,” he says. Adam knows he should try to move to the chair, to appear slightly less miserable for when they get here, but he just doesn’t have the energy for it. “Are they gonna make her gown up and mask and shit?”

“She’s staying on a med surg floor. Of course they are,” Calla says. “I still have to do it, even though I shower whenever I switch with Maura to come hang out with you up here.” 

“Damn,” Adam says, but it’s then the door opens and Maura wheels Blue in. 

“You look fucking awful,” she says as a greeting. 

“How was your baby surgery?” Adam fires back. “Sorry my organs tried to steal your organ’s thunder.” 

“My appendix accepts your lungs’ apology,” Blue says. “I’m wearing so much plastic and paper shit right now.”

“Apparently keeping me on the mortal coil outweighs keeping the turtles,” Adam says, and both of the moms throw him a warning look. “Sucks that you still have an IV.”

“It’s giving me the good shit, so I can’t complain,” Blue says. She looks tired, but she doesn’t look like she’s anything more than wildly sore, so Adam’s threshold for worry has disappeared. “You have so many fucking bags going into that port holy shit.” 

“Bacteria are hard to kill,” Adam says. “And it keeps me tethered to the fucking wall. Your IV pump go off like eighty fucking times last night?”

“Fuck yes. I finally understand why you coma so hard whenever you come home from the hospital. I couldn’t like sleep,” Blue says. “I’m gonna sleep like all day tomorrow.” 

“The number of pumps just makes exponentially more alerts,” Adam says darkly. And then he’s coughing, and Calla’s holding a basin and he needs a minute before he can breathe evenly again. 

“It sucks. About the shitty bacteria,” Blue says. “I’m sorry, Adam.” There’s a pause, where they just stare at each other. 

Calla thinks, not for the first time, they’ve come a long way since they first brought Adam home. Blue had been so mad that she suddenly wasn’t an only child, that her new playmate was too tired and too sick to play most of the time. That he needed so much attention, so much care. Adam had been so mad that this was happening, that there were suddenly so many rules and so many things he had to do, that he was sick and he ran out of energy so fast. 

“I’d hug you, but apparently that’s a no for stitches and for like sharing germs or whatever,” Blue says. Adam chuckles, and then coughs. “And because you’re so gross.”

“Right back at you.” Adam smiles, just a little bit. 

Calla allows herself one, too. For the first time, she believes that the world is going to keep going. They’re going to get through this.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for being a ghost grad school apps were a thing lmk what y'all think pls pls pls
> 
> (here or @thoseunheard on tumblr oop)


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